Tag Archives: teeth

ATTENTION: The shown image and text are NOT an invitation to action! Please read responsibly, at your own risk!

It’s 2013, following the End of the World/Year, with hoards of zombie-like survivors hangovering wind-blown, empty streets, littered with the scattered remains of what was once The Great Late Year 2012…
Only the prepared ones seem to have escaped the horrible, judgement-like display of fire(work)s falling from the skies, by taking shelter under shadowy living room tables, looking for what has been once, their complete cutlery…

Nothing’s functioning properly anymore, only mobile phones seem to heroically stand against longer and longer episodes of silence…
Television sets stare back blank at disillusioned bloodthirsty ps3 players holding in their motion-control shaped hands what were once games, bearing grandpa’s horrible false-teeth’s bite marks, all because “they” refused to “f*****g play ub40″…

No kitchen’s gonna ever be what’s been before, safe harbour for biological fugitives, on their last, oven-through way to, roast with winter veg silence of the lambs…

Not even the little ones have escaped… Gummy bears, gingerbread tiny little ones embraced in a last attempt to escape grinding raspberry, apple, cranberry and bramble soaked teeth…

Forever stuck in a half-dry puddle of regurgitated red wine on the doorstep between the living and the bathroom a sandal, eternal memento for all those whose inner peace failed on the short distance between the porcelain white of their teeth, and that of the toilet seat’s…

Because only on the bent backs of others we do learn the intricate, sparkling design narrowly stretching between our bleeding foreheads and the bathroom wall’s tiles…

Why is it that every bit of a stone raised to hit with,
arrives precisely at nearly every moment
of each day,
straight away,
against my very, every tooth
left unsmashed by previous,
attempts
to secure ’em a well deserved p(a)lace
in the newly appointed
Paradise for Handheld Teeth Smashing Stones.

In that very Paradise, a self appointed,
self revolving social arm,
penetrates back and forth,
back and forth and again, through thin layers of width,
(like grandma’s wooden spoon getting in and out
water’s boiling skin,
gently moving-removing eggs)
granting stones and hands
never-ending crimson ribbon padded mass graves:
Lourdeses for each and every barren
gum hole…
There chlorine is being added by the same
self revolving social spinster
Just to ensure gum disease are kept
at (pirate) bay…

Then at midnight,
all this bleached parade joins
the endless ranks of
desperate housewives scourging
through leftover papers
for whatever coupons
of love…

“Are you dead yet? Asked a frightened angel
sent to make sure no devil would dare unplug
my:
Heart (Jarvik)
Lung (the other’s out…)
Brain(s)
Urinal drains (kidneys sold to buy the Jarvik…)
also to make sure my colostomy bag
will never be emptied
of life’s all dues…
Because that would be a sacrilege
against the sanctity of (f)lies…
————————————-
And the devil presented (him/her)self before God and said:
“Do you see your job?”